No Rest For the Wicked
by NativeStar
Summary: Following directly on from All Hell Breaks Loose Sam and Dean deal with the aftermath whilst hunting a familiar demon. Spoilers for 2.22 WIP NOT CURRENTLY BEING WORKED ON. Sorry. :
1. Overwhelmed

Title: No Rest For the Wicked  
Author: NativeStar  
Word Count: 2103  
Rating: K+ (Rating may change for later chapters)  
Warnings: No pairings, spoilers for season 2 especially 2.22  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
Summary: Spoilers for 2.22, Following directly on from All Hell Breaks loose the boys deal with the aftermath while hunting a familiar demon.

A/N: Big thanks you to **mayalaen **for the beta :)

**Overwhelmed**

Today had been literally one hell of a day. Not only had they wasted the demon they had been hunting for twenty-three years, but their father had also clawed his way out of hell and, to be honest, that was only the tip of the iceberg. At the start of the day, Sam had been stone cold dead. With unspoken agreement, they were headed back to Bobby's. It was the nearest safe house with the two hundred odd demons fresh from hell swirling around. There wasn't a ward or protection Bobby knew of that wasn't etched into the walls.

Inside the Impala, the air was thick and quiet. The adrenaline had ebbed away letting the emotions wade in. Staring out the window Sam didn't realise it was possible to be so angry at someone, but, at the same time, want nothing else but to tell them it was alright, that you were here and that everything would be ok. The high from the fight and from knowing that they had killed _the_ Demon had drained away leaving both boys almost running on autopilot.

The white road markers disappearing under the wheel broke Sam out of his thoughts as the car slowly moved just a little too far to the left before slowly moving back. Looking over Dean didn't seem to even realise it had happened.

"Dean."

"Hmmm?"

"Pull over."

Dean sighed. "Sam, please don't do this."

"Actually, for once, I don't want to talk. We're swapping seats. I'm driving the rest of the way."

Dean glanced over, frowning. "What? It's ok. I'm fine."

It never ceased to amaze Sam how far off base Dean's definition of fine could be.

"You're barely driving straight, Dean, and you look like road kill. There's no debate here. Pull over."

Truth was Sam felt a little guilty. Dean had a nasty looking head wound and was probably running on fumes even before that. Sam would be shocked if Dean had managed more than a few hours of sleep these last few days. He shouldn't really have let Dean drive to start off with, but he had been stunned at Dean's revelation. He had expected ten years. A single year was not long, not long at all.

_Don't think about that. There'll be a way. There's always a way. __ It's just a case of finding it._

It was a testament to Dean's exhaustion that, less than a minute later, he silently pulled over, opened the door and stepped round to the other side. Shifting over to the driver's seat, Sam waited until Dean got comfortable, slouching down in the seat, and then pulled them back onto the road.

A couple of minutes later, he glanced over at Dean. He had positioned himself in the corner with the door half supporting his back, head tilted onto the seat behind and had closed his eyes. While Sam was pretty sure from his brother's behaviour that he hadn't sustained a concussion, he wasn't entirely convinced it was a good idea to let him sleep. And maybe, he admitted somewhat selfishly, maybe he just needed his brother with him right now.

"Dean! Come on, man. Don't go to sleep on me." Dean had, after all, been thrown into a _gravestone_.

"Wha'? Sam, lemme alone." The prompt but tired response relieved Sam. Reaching out he gently shook Dean's arm.

"No, Dean. Open your eyes. You gotta stay awake, at least for a little bit. You whacked your head pretty good."

Dean cracked open his eyes, mustering up the best glare he could manage.

"You mean you got me to pull over and swap seats because I looked like crap, but now you won't let me rest?"

"You've got a head injury."

"Yeah, and a pain-in-the-ass little brother," he grumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a relaxed smile. Sighing, he pushed himself up in the seat and flicked on the radio. The rest of the journey was spent in the company of rock and metal bands. Occasionally Dean would turn and stare briefly at Sam for a few seconds. Sam didn't let Dean know he noticed, but couldn't help wondering if Dean was letting him know he was still awake or if he was simply reassuring himself that his pain-in-the-ass little brother really was there.

A few hours later, the Impala rumbled up the drive. Dean had stayed awake with surprisingly few complaints, replying to Sam's intermittent questions and comments with a quiet word or two.

Pulling himself out of the car to lean on the roof, Dean sighed. The door to Bobby's might as well have been miles away for all the energy he had, but Sam had paused and was heading towards him, prompting Dean to make his way to the door.

Bobby and Ellen had got there a good half hour earlier thanks to the traffic and the boys' brief stop. The smell of coffee wafted down the corridor and, as Dean eased himself into a sofa in Bobby's cluttered lounge, he took a deep breath. He may not have wanted any stimulants right now, but the coffee smelled so good.

He didn't realise he had closed his eyes until he felt an icy cold sting on his forehead. Sucking in a breath, his eyes snapped open. Sam was crouched to the side holding a slightly bloody, wet gauze.

"Sorry. Thought you were out for the count. I was gonna try and take care of that for you."

"Oh, so you were going to let me sleep now?" His eyes were already drifting shut as the smothering tiredness settled over him again like a blanket. Dean was prepared for the next stinging pain and he barely flinched, not opening his eyes as fresh gauze wiped away more of the blood.

"Yeah, I reckon you can sleep now. Hell you can sleep for a few_ days_ if you want. You must be exhausted, man. At least I had...,"

Dean felt the gauze pause briefly above his eye. He could picture in his mind Sam swallowing before carrying on.

"It doesn't look like it'll need stitches." Dean watched him turn to the kit on the floor next to him, focussing on finding a bandage.

"Sam." Dean waited until Sam met his eyes. "It's ok. We _both_ need some well-deserved rest." Relaxing again, Dean let Sam continue his ministrations.

"What?" Sam asked, confused when he saw Dean smiling less than a minute later.

"Nothing, it's just… We got that son of a bitch, Sammy. We really did it. It's almost hard to believe, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Dean realised they were alone in the room and the house was quiet.

"Where are Bobby and Ellen?"

"They're in the kitchen. Bobby found a bottle of the good stuff, but I think… I think they're talking about the roadhouse." Ellen may have put on a brave face earlier, but now that the fight was over, now there was time to deal with everything. "So much has gone down today. We can celebrate killing the demon later. We're all just beat right now."

Sam finished by taping a small bandage over the livid cut. Standing up, he quickly tidied the kit, snapping the lid shut and leaving it beside the chair to be put away tomorrow.

_Everything can wait until tomorrow. Then I'll deal._

All Sam wanted to do was go to sleep. Whether he would be able to and if the nightmares would stay away was another thing, but right now he craved the blessed nothingness that came with deep sleep. It was all too much, too overwhelming. The anger at Dean's deal, satisfaction over killing the demon, fear for Dean's life, grief over those they had lost, the fact that he had truly died; it all came crashing in leaving Sam battered and almost numb, unable to process them all so processing none. He wanted to stop thinking, to stop feeling just for a while. He just wanted to sleep.

Reaching out a hand, he helped Dean out of the chair and, wearily, they both made their way to the stairs. Passing by the kitchen, Sam heard hushed talking and something that could be mistaken for quiet sobbing. The thought crossed Sam's mind that, while they may have won a twenty three-year-old battle, it hadn't come without a price.

Dean slept hard and long. He didn't surface until late afternoon, and even then could have happily slept longer. However, seeing the empty bed beside him, he moved achingly but carefully downstairs. He found Sam in the lounge, sat at the desk surrounded by a substantial amount of Bobby's impressive collection of books.

"Hey, Dean." Sam looked up briefly before returning to work.

"Morning."

"Afternoon actually. You slept over sixteen hours." Ignoring Sam's smile, Dean sat down opposite, absently picking up a book entitled 'Daemons: The Exorcism Rites' and started flicking through a few pages of Latin.

Finishing with his book, Sam closed it, turning his full attention to his brother.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm good."

"Dean…"

"Honestly, Sam, I'm good. Tired and got a slight headache, but, all things considered, I'm good. What are you up to? You haven't been doing this all day, have you?"

"No, I only got up an hour or so ago. I'm just making a start on the research. Bobby thought these books would be a good place to start."

"Research for what? You found a case already?" Dean saw the frustration fill Sam's eyes.

"There's no case, Dean. I said I was going to find a way to save you and I meant it." Sam was annoyed. He couldn't believe Dean would think he was researching something else. "There's no reason not to start now, especially as you only managed to get yourself a year. Bobby has a whole library on demons and summoning and exorcisms. There's no better place to start than here."

"Then I guess I should be grateful you didn't get started last night, geekboy." Dean lowered his voice. "Thanks."

Sam pushed the chair back from the table and crossed his arms.

"Dean," he sighed, shaking his head slightly with the look that usually meant Dean was going to find out just exactly how much and why his brother disagreed with him. Dean had been expecting, sooner or later, some kind of rant about the deal. But instead, Sam just asked him if he was hungry.

"If you are, I think Bobby might be sorting out some kind of breakfast or I guess its dinner now," Sam told him.

Grateful for the exit, Dean rose. "I'll go give him a hand. Don't think I'd be much help right now with the research with my headache."

Dean walked into the kitchen just as Bobby hung up the phone with a grim look. Seeing Dean, Bobby gave him a nod.

"Good to see you up, Dean."

"Thanks, Bobby." Nodding to the phone Dean asked, "What's up?"

"Not sure. I just got a call from Sal. Thinks there's a problem up with Thompson in town. He thinks it's our kind of problem." Dean frowned.

"Our kind of problem? As in supernatural, our kind of problem, or my truck's broken down, our kind of problem?"

"He thinks the guy's possessed."

"What makes him think that?" Dean had seen many people over the years claim someone was possessed only to find out there was a perfectly rational explanation for their behaviour.

"He's acting… off. Sal can't quite put his finger on it, but he swears to me he saw his eyes turn black," Bobby explained.

"And how exactly does he know what we do?" Dean queried, uncomfortable that some stranger knew exactly what they did.

"I helped him out with a problem a few years back. He asked me lots of questions and I answered them. Thought he might've even been considering hunting a thing or two for a while, but it turns out he's just got a streak of curiosity a mile long. Anyhow he don't spook easily, so it's worth checking out." Bobby headed to the door fishing his keys out of his pocket. "It's possible one of the demons that got let out decided not to go far. You up for helping me deal with this?"

"Sure. I'll get Sam and meet you out front in a minute." The anticipation of a hunt hummed through Dean, making his headache fade into the background. He smiled. They more than likely had a case. Sammy was alive and well and the demon was dead. In Dean's mind, he couldn't really ask for more.

All reviews and constructive criticism greatly appreciated!

Next chapter hopefully before the end of the week!


	2. Bar Room Brawl

Title: No Rest For the Wicked  
Author: NativeStar  
Word Count: 2127  
Rating: T (Rating may change for later chapters)  
Warnings: No pairings, spoilers for season 2 especially 2.22  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
Summary: Spoilers for 2.22, Following directly on from All Hell Breaks loose the boys deal with the aftermath while hunting a familiar demon.

A.N: Thanks again to the brilliant Mayalaen for the beta!

Bobby lives in South Dakota. I picked Murdo pretty much at random so I know nothing about the place and everything is fictional apart from the name. Just in case someone from Murdo reads and goes "Hang on…"  
On an amusing side note Murdo has "Pioneer auto show" fitting for Bobby I thought and "Dean's oil company"!

* * *

Bobby lived just outside the small city of Murdo. It was small enough that it had a friendly atmosphere and most people knew each other, but on the other hand it was still large enough that strangers attracted little attention. Bobby mostly kept to himself, socialising only with the various hunters that sporadically passed through he had gotten to know quite well several people in town when he occasionally had to venture in for supplies. 

During the short drive into town, Sam and Dean learned that Sal owned the local bar while Cody Thompson ran the farm on the other side of town. Ellen hadn't joined them, having left early in the morning to go to the roadhouse. She was meeting Jo there and they were starting the painful task of trying to salvage what they could from the wreckage. She'd left strict orders with Bobby not to wake the boys, but, if they wanted to come help when they woke, she'd be grateful. Unfortunately possible demon possession was a little more immediately important. Besides, as Bobby had pointed out, Ellen had probably needed some time alone with Jo.

As he pulled into the deserted parking lot of the bar, Dean noticed with relief that there were only a couple of cars. The fewer people were around the easier it would be to do an exorcism. The three of them were loading up on supplies when Sam noticed Dean tucking a gun into the waistband of his jeans.

"Dean! You can't just shoot the guy if he really is possessed!"

"Relax. It's loaded with rock salt. It won't kill him, but then_ he_ won't know that."

Sam sighed and Dean took his silence as permission, not that it would have stopped him either way. He wasn't going in there unprepared.

Stepping through the door, not one of them expected the sight that greeted them.

* * *

"Stop! Don't move!" a panicked man shouted at them, pointing a gun directly at the door. His eyes darted around the room frantically as if expecting more people to be sneaking in. In front of him, he held a terrified young woman. His thick arm restrained her by the neck, effectively shielding him. The bartender, Sal, stood behind the bar, arms raised and looking shell shocked. 

"I said don't move! Keep your hands were I can see them."

The three froze and, once satisfied they weren't going to try anything, the man returned the gun to the shaking woman's head.

"Please, let me go," she whispered.

"Lock the door. I don't want any more coming in," he said, looking at Bobby. "Then go stand by the bar."

Doing as he said, the three of them went and stood by Sal.

Sam looked at Dean and Bobby and raised his eyebrows, silently asking them to let him try to handle this. Bobby shrugged almost imperceptibly while Dean nodded slightly. _Go for it, you'll have better luck than me._

Taking a deep breath, Sam raised his arms in a placating manner.

"Thompson? Your name is Thompson, right? I'm Sam." Distrustful eyes met Sam's.

"How do you know my name? Did he tell you?!" Getting worked up again, he pointed to Sal using the gun.

"Yeah, he did," Sam replied, quickly drawing the attention back to him. "He was worried about you. You're not acting like yourself. If you put the gun down, maybe we can talk. Sort this all out without anyone getting hurt." Sam spoke in a soft voice, the one that always got people to open up to him. The one Dean was eternally thankful for at this point.

Thompson said nothing, but lowered the gun slightly. Taking this as a positive sign, Sam took a step towards him, approaching him like he might a wild animal or skittish horse. Consciously Dean held back, reluctantly letting Sam take the lead.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Thompson whispered, his eyes pleading as he looked to Sam. He relaxed his grip on the girl slightly. This was looking less and less like a possession and more like a man gone over the edge.

"I know. I know you don't. We can sort this out, all right? Just why don't you let...," he paused, looking to the girl.

"Sandy," she spoke up, voice trembling slightly.

"Okay, Sandy, you're doing great," Sam continued. "Thompson just let Sandy go and we can talk. Sort out what's bothering you." Sam edged a step closer.

Thompson laughed, suddenly releasing Sandy who quickly moved to Dean. He quietly reassured her before transferring her to Bobby's hold behind him.

"What's bothering me? You are what's bothering me, _Sammy_."

Now that Sandy was relatively safe, there was nothing to stop Sam checking if he was possessed or deranged.

"Christo," said Sam.

Thompson flinched, eyes flashing dark.

Sam quickly backed up, level with Dean.

The demon kept the gun trained on all four of them.

"You know, I was hoping you two would be around here somewhere. Wasn't expecting you to be this close, though." Thompson spoke quietly, lips lifting into a smile. Dean's eyes slid to Sam, confused.

"I would thank you for letting me out of hell, but since you put me there, well I'd rather see you suffer."

Sam searched his mind, trying to figure out which demon it could be. Dean, however, seemed to have figured it out.

"Flight 2485," he murmured, then louder said, "You're the plane-crashing demon. That's the only demon besides Meg that we exorcised rather than killed, and she made it out of hell all by herself."

"You're quick, Deano. Gold star for you," the demon mocked.

Dean clenched his jaw. "Well, I hope you enjoyed your little holiday because you're going straight back there," said Dean.

The demon laughed. "You're mighty confident for the guy _not_ holding the gun."

"What do you want?" asked Sam. Looking at Sam, the demon smirked.

"Pay attention Sammy. I already told you what I want. I want you to suffer, to pay for your little exorcism. I want to send _you_ to hell. See how you like it then."

While the demon spoke, Sal had used the opportunity of having the demon focused on the boys to grab hold of a glass kept under the bar. Seeing a chance, he threw it away from him. As it crashed to the floor, the demon turned to follow the sound.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Dean reached back for his gun and drew it on the demon.

"Now that's not nice, Dean," he gasped. Turning his head, an unseen force threw Dean over a pool table into the wall. Stunned, Dean lay there.

Before the demon could turn his attention back to him, Sam had uncapped his bottle of holy water and threw it on the demon. Immediately smoke rose off his body. The demon grunted in pain, staggering backwards a few steps. Sam ran at him and punched him in the face, taking them both to the ground. The gun was knocked from his hand, skittering across the floor. He was quickly joined by Bobby, helping him to restrain the bucking demon.

"Dean! Start it!"

Dean struggled to his feet, dazed but fumbling in his coat pocket for the Latin.

The demon struggled, writhing on the ground. Even with Bobby's help, Sam could barely keep him within his grip, let alone on the floor.

"Anytime now with that exorcism would be good!" Sam shouted.

Staggering over, Dean began reading.

The demon growled, building up to a yell and raising his arms out. Sam, Bobby and Dean felt themselves violently flung back. Dean and Bobby skidded across the floor, coming to rest against the bar while Sam crashed into a table, knocking it over before hitting the wall near the door.

"I will _not_ be going back so easily!" He stood, wisps of smoke still rising from his chest and walked to where the gun lay abandoned. His gaze locking onto Dean "His death will be on your hands, you could have prevented this."

Both boys realised what the demon intended to do a second before he raised the gun to his head.

"No!!" they shouted in unison.

The shot echoed around the bar, leaving deathly silence in its wake. Only the sound of harsh breathing and soft crying could be heard.

"No," Dean repeated, his voice a mere whisper.

The force holding them in their place disappeared as a thick black cloud came billowing out of the fallen mans mouth, rising high into the sky before plummeting down and disappearing through the floor.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean yelled as the last tendril of black left.

* * *

Dean and Sam were sitting in Sal's bar. They had disappeared out back while Sal and Bobby had dealt with the police. It hadn't taken much to convince Sal and Sandy not to mention them to the police. Both were grateful for what they had tried to do and understood that hunters might not lead the most legal of lives. All three stories had checked out and, with all evidence pointing to a suicide, the police had dealt with the incident and left relatively quickly. 

Sal had insisted they have a drink on the house after the police had gone and Sam and Dean sat in the corner discussing their next course of action. Bobby had kindly offered to drive Sandy home and Dean had reluctantly handed over the keys to the Impala.

"At least that explains why the demon was drawing attention to itself. Most of the ones released have gone to ground for now anyway, but this one has a debt to settle," Sam said while nursing his beer, subdued by the events of the day.

"It isn't going to stop. We need to come up with some kind of plan. It's gonna come after us again, or worse, use some innocent person to draw us out." Dean was itching to take some action.

"We could hole up at Bobby's. If it comes for us there we can try and draw it into the devil's trap, then it should just be a simple exorcism," Sam suggested.

Dean sighed, "I don't like the idea of just waiting for it to come find us, but I don't see an alternative. We don't know where it is or who it's in."

Sam stared out the window, thinking about Thompson, about his family, about how the police were probably already at the Thompson house and had given the grave news to his wife.

"His family should know it wasn't a suicide,"

"We can't say anything, Sam. They wouldn't believe us."

"I know."

Bobby returned and sat at the table as Sal came over with a couple of pints to join the boys. Placing one pint in front of Bobby, he took a long drink from his own.

"Bobby, thanks again for coming so quickly. I know you tried your best to save him," Sal said.

"It's fine. I wish we could have done more. You might want to give Sandy a call tomorrow. She's pretty shook up. She's with her family now, trying to forget it happened. She doesn't really understand or want to believe it." Sal nodded.

"Thompson was a good man. He didn't deserve that."

"No one does," Sam spoke softly.

"He came in early this morning," Sal continued, dazed as though trying to make sense of the days events. "Asked for a double, straight up. This is a man that I've seen in my bar maybe a dozen times or so and he never, I mean never drinks. He's completely teetotal. It wasn't like him. I mean maybe if I'd, I dunno maybe if I'd just served him. Let him go, the demon might have…"

"You can't blame yourself. You did what you could. It's no ones fault but that damn demon and that demon is going to be damned. We're sending him right back to hell." Dean spoke with an edge in his voice that usually troubled Sam, but today he found himself mirroring his brother's feelings.

* * *

Leaving the bar, Dean walked across the lot heading to the car. Pausing by the door, he looked down the street, shaking his head as he thought any one of the dozens of people going about their daily business could, in reality, be possessed by the demon. The woman at the crossing caught him looking and offered him a smile. He returned it purely out of politeness rather than his usual attempts to score. Her smile changed, turning almost cold and she waved goodbye as Dean noticed the sudden blackness of her eyes. Dean ran towards her as she turned and stepped off the curb. 

Into the oncoming traffic.

Please review! Constructive Criticism greatly appreciated.


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